


searching for a heart of gold

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ADWD spoilers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Knights - Freeform, Post - A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where Jaime comes to the conclusion that no one in Westeros deserves knighthood more than Brienne and finds out what he really wants in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	searching for a heart of gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dayinthelife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayinthelife/gifts).



> written for the last round at [got_exchange](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/) on lj, for the prompts _she is the absolute picture of honor, valor, and everything that he strived to become, once upon a time. So Jaime knights her_ and Jaime reflecting on his relationship with Arthur Dayne. The title is from Neil Young, I own zilch. Also: I'm pretty positive that this is not how knighting usually goes in Westeros but there isn't a single complete ceremony described in anything GRRM ever wrote so I just went with what looked plausible.

It’s been years since he last asked himself _that_ question. The one he used to ask himself all the time before he was knighted, and that he used to ask himself even after, though not as much. He’s asked himself that very question until he was seventeen, and then he hasn’t done it much, if at all.

_What would Arthur Dayne think of this?_

He doesn’t know why it’s happening now, as he stares at the dark, rope-shaped bruise on Brienne’s neck. It looks even darker in the firelight, but that’s not the point.

The point is another.

“Sorry, you did _what_?”

“I told them I wasn’t going to kill you,” she answers for the second time, looking down at her hands after glancing at her right side, where her squire and the other knight – Hunt? He thinks it was the name – are currently passed out. “Then I took it back because I couldn’t let _them_ die. But – if they hadn’t been there I wouldn’t have.”

 _Seven hells_ , he thinks, suddenly finding himself without words.

The residual anger he had been harboring over finding out that she led him into a trap (from which she managed to lead him out, anyway) suddenly melts like snow in the springtime. He shakes his head, unable to take his eyes off her neck.

“Do you value your life that little?” He sounds more surprised than anything else. “I’m not worth it.”

She raises her eyes, looks at him before swallowing and shaking her head. “I value my life that much, ser,” she replies quietly. “And it would have been worth it.”

She stands up and goes to the bedroll that was ready for her on the ground, and Jaime stares at her back as she takes off her armor and lays in it, her sword next to her hand.

And the answer comes. _He’d probably wish that every given knight had that kind of courage_. Jaime knew Arthur Dayne well enough to guess at least that, and the thought is upsetting enough that at least there’s no risk that he’ll fall asleep during his watch.

It’s upsetting because he’s been trying not to think about what would Arthur Dayne think of his life choices for years, and he’s not sure that if he keeps on walking that path he’ll find answers that he’ll like.

\--

_Thing is, it’s not that he’s forgotten. He hasn’t forgotten a thing. He remembers every moment, very well. Starting from the moment he was knighted. He also remembers the fight against the Smiling Knight, of course, both his own and Arthur Dayne’s, but the moment he was knighted was the clearest. He remembers his knees and hands shaking as he knelt, he remembers how heavy Dawn felt while it touched his shoulders, he remembers swearing those oaths sincerely, thriving with happiness, and then when he raised, his title received, the Sword of the Morning was smiling a pleased, little grin at him, as if he thought that he could do great things._

_Jaime had thought that he could do great things, too, back then. Nothing seemed to be in the way. He knew nothing, then._

\--

He barely manages to catch some sleep during Hunt’s watch, and when he wakes up, his back aches. _When did I get old enough that a few weeks of sleeping on the ground make my muscles ache?_ , he thinks before standing up and forcing himself not to think about it.

Brienne says that he should go back to his camp and that they might as well escort him, and then she’ll go back to her search for Sansa Stark.

Jaime waits until Hunt and Payne (and isn’t that hilarious that Brienne’s squire used to be his brother’s) are off somewhere gathering wood and clears his throat before sitting down in front of Brienne.

“Sorry, can you tell me what’s the plan, again?”

“We’re going back to your camp. And then I’m going back to my search. If they want to come with, good. Otherwise, I will go on regardless.”

“You – you still want to?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Wen – Brienne.” He figures he owes her to use at least her name. “I sent you on a quest that would have been hopeless even if you had more than two people with you and you almost got killed for it.” He doesn’t mention her ruined cheek or – well, he supposes that dealing with Lady Stoneheart can’t have been a pleasant experience. He still can’t believe that they let them go after Brienne won three trials by battle for the three of them – Stoneheart hadn’t been pleased at all. “And you still want to do it? I wouldn’t hold it against you if you didn’t.”

“Ser, I swore. To you and to _her_. It was before she became _that_ , but I haven’t forgotten it. I will find her daughter, and if I can bring it to her I will if only so that she knows that not all of her children are dead or lost. And even if I can’t, I’ll still do that because I swore you, and when someone trusts me with their honor, I’ll die rather than fail.”

 _Gods_ , he thinks, _and she’s worrying about the well-being of a bloody living corpse who’s nothing like Catelyn Stark, on top of everything_. He’s ashamed to think that he might not have had the same guts in her place, but then again hasn’t he managed to break every oath he ever swore? He’s one to talk, isn’t he?

“Well, if you change your mind by the time we’re back at Riverrun, I won’t be offended.”

She shakes her head with finality.

He never was like that, not even when he thought it was the case.

\--

 _Back when he was knighted, he thinks that his brother was maybe the only one getting what it meant to him. Not that Tyrion understood it fully, and he was more interested in dragons anyway, but at least he seemed to share his excitement. It wasn’t just that he had been knighted – it was that the_ Sword of the Morning _knighted him. Not just anyone. Jaime’s head was filled with dreams back then, dreams of being the same as him, dreams of slaying outlaws like the Smiling Knight. Sometimes he thought that he’d have liked it if someone wrote a song about his deeds – knightly ones. (He knew that his father already had a perfectly acceptable one written for him, but_ The Rains of Castamere _isn’t about knightly deeds.) He also didn’t like the prospect of being separated from his sister, and the two things together what made him decide that the Kingsguard wasn’t such a bad prospect. You can’t be a knight or earn songs if you’re just a lord, anyway, and donning a white cloak seemed such a perfect answer to all his wishes._

_Serving with Arthur Dayne was not the last, in the list of good reasons to join the Kingsguard._

\--

As they make their way through the path, on the following day, he learns how Brienne found her two companions.

When he learns about the circumstances of her and Hunt’s first meeting, he’s this tempted to jump from his horse and pay him the same favor he paid Ronnet Connington, but he doesn’t mostly because he knows that if Brienne wanted, she could do worse to him. And she hasn’t done that yet. She actually risked her life also for him, so there has to be a reason. He doesn’t pretend that he finds those circumstances funny, though.

“Aren’t you angry with him?” he asks when they stop to eat and they are the two on gathering wood duty.

“With Ser Hyle?”

“Well, all things considered, if I were you, I wouldn’t have looked at him twice after the first time he showed up.”

She shrugs. “I think he’s genuinely sorry about it.” She kneels to grab another piece of wood. “Holding a grudge seemed useless. He’s not a bad man. And he wouldn’t be the first or the last, for that matter.”

Jaime would know, wouldn’t he? “Some people would say you’re too forgiving.”

“Jaime, I should have been holding grudges for the last fifteen years then.”

 _How does she even exist?_ , he can’t help thinking. Then he figures that maybe he should share the entire story – after all, thinking back about it, punching Ronnet Connington in the face is one of the few knightly deeds he’s ever accomplished, isn’t it?

“I hope you held one with Ronnet Connington,” he says then, and he can’t help noticing that her eyes suddenly become wider and that she holds herself a bit more stiff.

“How do you even know about that?”

“He was in my army. Before I reached Riverrun, though.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Well, we were at Harrenhal. He asked me if it was true about that bear we happily fought against, and he told me the whole story.”

“Oh.” She sounds dejected now, as she reaches for another fallen tree branch.

“I punched him in the face,” he adds.

“You did _what_?”

“I think that there are still a couple of his teeth in that pit. Along with the bear. I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference, but I figured you should know.”

She turns her head towards him, and she’s smiling just slightly, as if she’s pleased but she can’t believe she just heard it.

“They put him against me during that melee that I won at Renly’s camp,” she replies then, turning towards the camp. “I took care of beating him soundly back then. But – it does make a difference.”

For a moment it seems as if she’s going to do _something_ other than looking at him, but then she shakes her head and starts walking back towards the camp.

Jaime kind of wants to laugh out loud at that – of course she’d have already taken care of that sorry excuse for a lord in the first place, it’s not like she needs _him_ to be the knight in shining armor that he never was, but there was something in the way she said it made a difference that makes him believe her.

Seven hells. It just makes sense that she’d be her own fucking knight in shining armor, doesn’t it? A part of him can’t help thinking that Arthur Dayne would have been more than just impressed with the wench.

\--

_He never thinks about the Harrenhal tourney. Back then, as he traveled to King’s Landing to obey his first royal order, he was wishing with all his might that he had been allowed to participate, but years later he thinks that maybe he hadn’t lost much. He still remembers how it had stung, though. After all, wasn’t it the first crack in the picture he had of what his knighthood would turn out to be?_

_It’s never nice, to find out that you’ve been treated as some kind of pawn when you know you’re better than that._

_But back then things still hadn’t looked bleak. He was determined to follow his duties and maybe, meanwhile, show the king that he was a good choice for the Kingsguard regardless of the reasons he was chosen. Not to mention that at least he could spar with the Sword of the Morning daily, and that almost made everything worth it, in the beginning._

\--

 _He’s seventeen, and he’s running towards the Iron Throne. Something feels wrong about this, somehow_ different _than it should be, but he knows that he has to be quick or the entire city will burn. He has his sword in his right hand (why does that feel wrong?) and he’s out of breath when he reaches Aerys – he’s laughing, with his back turned towards him, and that’s it, he knows that he can’t come back from this but he has to do it and –_

 _Aerys turns towards him but it’s not Aerys, it’s a woman with dead eyes, a bleeding gash on her throat and skin falling off her cheeks. His sword falls to the ground with a dull thud and before he can speak one of her hands is at his throat, her ruined nails digging into his skin, and she’s croaking something that sounds like_ you sent him your regards, you knew, you knew _, and he wants to say that no, he didn’t, he really didn’t, he meant it for once, there wasn’t any malice in it –_

Jaime wakes up barely keeping himself from screaming out loud. There’s cold sweat all over his face and he wants to vomit, but he manages to keep it in check. He groans as he tries to get his heart rate under control – what was even that dream, anyway? He sighs – the thing is that he can’t believe that it happened again. This thing where whenever he says or does something in earnest and for entirely good reasons then it always turns out to be his downfall is starting to become old – hells, he had meant that _bring Robb Stark my regards_ line. After all, the boy did beat him soundly. How could he even know that Bolton was planning to turn his cloak and stab him in the back in front of his mother?

Only a fool would even wonder why Lady Stoneheart wants him dead.

He shakes his head trying not to think about it, deciding that sleeping isn’t an option. His watch isn’t supposed to start for a long while, but there’s no point in Pod having to keep himself awake, is it? He stands up and tells the lad to go to sleep, he’ll take his turn. At this point, he could take both his and Brienne’s, since she had the second one – maybe after half the night is gone he’ll be tired enough to pass out and have a dreamless sleep.

He thinks about what expects him back at his camp and he can’t help feeling like he’s somehow gotten everything wrong. At best he’ll have to keep on playing peacemaker between minor lords, all along while holding Riverrun when he had sworn that he’d never raise arms against it. To Catelyn Stark. Who thinks that he had a hand in the fucking Red Wedding – as if he’d resort to betrayal to kill someone he doesn’t like. Not to mention that the few times he’s been inside the fortress he’s had to deal with Sybelle Westerling and all of those times he had felt dirty. Since when true knights would stand with her rather than her daughter? Then again, her daughter isn’t his family’s ally, is she?

Then again, Lady Stoneheart wants his head because his father was half the reason both she and her son died, doesn’t she? And in what way. He snorts – his father’s work, sure thing. Maybe his aunt was right when she told him that _he_ wasn’t his father’s son? Surely he’d have never even thought of going that far.

The point is that right now he can’t think of one good reason why he should go back.

“This isn’t supposed to be your watch.”

He raises his head abruptly – Brienne is standing above him, but a moment later she sits down next to him.

“I couldn’t sleep. Actually I wasn’t planning on waking you up. What are you even doing here?”

“I can’t sleep either. I thought I’d take Pod’s place.”

“It’s your bad luck that I was here first. You can go back, I can keep watch.”

“I doubt I’ll manage,” she replies.

“Well, suit yourself. We do this together then. I was here first, wasn’t I?” he says, tossing another piece of wood in the fire with his left hand.

She nods briefly and turns to the fire, but he can’t help noticing that in the next handful of (silent) minutes she glances at him more times than it’d be proper.

“Is there something wrong with me?” he asks, teasing her. Her whole cheek flushes at once, but she holds his stare as she shakes his head.

“No.”

“Wench, I doubt there’s much to see that you haven’t seen already.”

“It’s not – it’s that – oh, _fine_ ,” she mutters to herself, more than to him, and then she has a hand touching his cheek gingerly, turning his head slightly, and –

He feels her full, cracked lips press against his cheek for a moment before it’s over and she takes her hand away. She’s flushing even more right now and she’s resolutely not looking at him.

“That was for Ronnet Connington,” she mutters a moment later. And she doesn’t clarify it further.

He feels as if his cheek is burning. His first instinct is joking about it, but then he realizes that this is probably the first and only time she’s ever found herself in the kind of situation where the maiden kisses the knight and where she’s in the former position, and he’s not sure that he should. She looks embarrassed enough.

Then he grins, realizing something else.

“My thanks,” he replies, conscious that he sounds a tad too amused, but hopefully she won’t mind. “But if that’s how it goes, then I think I have a debt with you.”

“You don’t.” She sounds confused now.

“I do. I wasn’t the one winning my own trial back at the Brotherhood’s camp, was I?”

“That’s not –”

“I think it is. And you know how it goes. Far from me not to pay my debts and put further shame on the family name.”

“You’re serious.”

“I’m deadly serious. I’m just wondering if you’ll let me live if I do it.”

“If you insist,” Brienne replies, and she’s flushing even harder now.

He’s gone this far, he’s going to insist. And he’s going to do it right. He puts his fingers under her chin, forcing her to face him, and then he leans forward before kissing her scarred cheek. She goes still for a moment, obviously not expecting it, and when he moves back she’s looking at him with wide eyes. That haven’t become any less pretty, he can’t help noticing, even if the rest of her didn’t fare as well.

“My thanks,” she whispers.

“I always pay my debts.”

She snorts, her lips almost curling up in a full grin as she shakes her head, and they don’t say much else until enough time has passed that neither of them can stay awake.

\--  
 _  
In later years, he’ll wonder, would it have been different if he had been assigned to the prince? He never found an answer – it’s not as if Rhaegar Targaryen would have had much use for a green boy as he was. But it still would have been better than what came to pass, of that he’s sure._

 _He always wondered how the others dealt with it, how they justified that they had to protect the queen but_ not from the king _. He never dared asking – after all, he was the last one joining the guard. Maybe it was something you learned, maybe all kings were like that, but he still couldn’t see any honor in it. He’s also not sure that his eventual coping mechanism was the same conclusion everyone else had reached._

_He had thought about asking Arthur, at some point, but he never did. In retrospective, he knows that he was afraid that he’d receive a disappointed stare first, and an equally disappointed tone in the real answer. He had been sure that there was some way for the entire situation to make sense and that he just needed to understand it._

_Turns out, that way of thinking couldn’t last more than two years._

\--

“If I ask you a question, can you swear that your first instinct won’t be killing me?”

Jaime turns towards Hyle Hunt as they ride, knowing that he must look baffled. He’s slept nowhere near enough to be in top form, and the question is queer at least.

“Why in the seven hells should I want to kill you for asking a question? Go for it. I have more pressing problems to worry about.”

“Well – do you know that they called her your whore at the Brotherhood’s camp?”

Jaime almost stops dead in his tracks, horse and all. “They did _what_?”

“That’s how they called her when they brought her to Stoneheart the first time. And after she was about to hang for you. Apparently she called for you while she was feverish, I wouldn’t know since I was well away. I was wondering if you’d know why they’d do that?”

“I have no fucking clue, and I can assure you that she’s no one’s whore, least of all mine. And why do you even care?”

Hunt shrugs before looking back at the road again. “There must be a reason why she keeps on refusing my perfectly sensible marriage proposals,” he answers before moving further on up the road.

The last statement doesn’t even register – he remains stuck at the first.

Seven hells, how can anyone even put Brienne and _whore_ in the same sentence? There’s just no way, not when the woman bit off Vargo Hoat’s bloody ear rather than letting him rape her. When she had refused to follow his advice about going inside the first time he had thought her mad – now he can’t help feeling slightly inadequate. She isn’t that much older than he was when he learned exactly how mad Aerys was.

 _What would she have done if she had been in my place?_ , he ponders. He leans towards _not what I did._

Wondering what the Sword of the Morning would have thought of it comes almost naturally, after that. Jaime is almost positive that he’d have been a lot more than impressed.

Gods, and he doesn’t want to know how many other times she risked that. Wasn’t she eight and ten when they met? And since then she has managed to survive that, a hanging, to save his life twice (and she hadn’t even liked him much, the first), and she _still_ wants to find bloody Sansa Stark because she _swore_ him. Not to mention that she’s probably the only person in Westeros who thinks that he doesn’t have shit for honor, or at least not entirely. He wished he could say that she had her head full of songs and that she didn’t get it, but that’s not true either. She’s nowhere near stupid, and she’s seen enough of the world to know that it’s not a song, and there’s no other way to put it: the entirety of the Kingsguard as it is right now (and he should probably include himself) isn’t worth half the knight that Brienne of Tarth is.

 _Maybe I should have been a bit more stubborn_ , he thinks. _Then again, she didn’t have to deal with Aerys Targaryen, did she?_

Except that Brienne had to deal with the woman who used to be Catelyn Stark. While Lady Stoneheart isn’t the kind of menace to the realm that Aerys was… well, Jaime never had sympathy to spare for the king, not since Harrenhal’s tourney. Brienne had plenty to spare for Lady Stark. He’s sure that anyone else would have given up at that point. Especially when – well, Brienne might be the one person in Westeros who sees something good in him, but he’s also apparently the one person in Westeros who’d have trusted her with that quest in the first place. And nonetheless she isn’t going back to Tarth as any sensible person would.

For one moment, he’s kind of envious. _He_ never went on a quest. Going against the Smiling Knight’s group wasn’t exactly a quest, not in that sense. That was what he wanted to do. Not guarding mad kings while learning secrets bigger than he could handle.

And then he thinks, _what’s stopping me now?_

He hadn’t wanted to secure Riverrun in the first place – the Blackfish could have kept it forever, for all he cared. The last thing he feels like doing right now is dealing with Sybelle Westerling and hearing her daughter crying for Robb Stark the room next to his. Cersei wants him to help her, but after everything – sure, she only asks when she _needs_ him, but where was she when _he_ needed her? He sacrificed everything for her already and whatever it is that she needs, he’s sure that he can’t give it to her. (Especially if she needs a champion.) Giving a try at doing the honorable thing while staying in the Kingsguard has been a failure – he wouldn’t have even gone to Riverrun if it hadn’t been the case. He hasn’t even thought about inheriting Casterly Rock since he was fifteen.

So all right, now he feels like his life is a long strings of failures, but maybe he has time to change it.

If it turns out to be another failure, at least he’ll have the consolation that he chose it because he _wanted_ it for himself.

“Wench!” He rides faster, catching up with her and surpassing both Hunt and Pod.

“Yes?”

“I need to talk to you. Now. Possibly with both of us on the ground.”

She stares at him for a moment, then stops her horse. “Fine. Just a moment though, there’s no time to spare.”

She dismounts and he does the same – he walks up to her so that they’re close enough for anyone else not to hear the conversation.

“What was your plan? After leaving me at my camp.”

“Well, I thought that she could be with the Hound in the Riverlands or in the Vale. I went with the first because it seemed more likely, but it turned out to be wrong. As you saw. So – I’m going to the Vale, I think. Why?”

Sensible. Except that he can’t see any confrontation between Brienne and Littlefinger turning out good.

Well, even more reason to take his decision.

“All right. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“But – you have an army, you should –”

“I didn’t even want to go there in the first place. Hells, as it is, I’d be more than glad to hand the castle back to the bloody Blackfish and wash my hands off it. And since I went and took it in the first place I already – I mean, I had sworn myself that I’d start all over again in the Kingsguard making the better of it, and the first thing I do is breaking that oath to your precious Lady Stark. Seems that every way I go about it, I can’t get it right. I might as well spare myself the effort. And I’ve never been on a serious quest – I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

“ _Fun_ ,” she says, disbelieving, but he can see it – she’s not thinking that he isn’t being serious. It’s written all over her face.

“Why not? Also, well, it isn’t fair that I leave you to do all the work. Sansa Stark might be my last chance at honor, I might as well have a hand in this. So, are we going for the Vale or not?”

Brienne stares at him another moment, and he doesn’t back down – now that’d be ridiculous if he did, right?

“Very well,” she answers. Jaime might want to say that she might sound a bit pleased, but he’s not sure of it and that’s not the point. “Change of plans,” she says as she walks past him. “Turn back. We’re going for the Vale. All of us.”

Jaime knows he’s smiling to himself. He’s not sorry about this, or at least nowhere near as much as he should.

\--

_He doesn’t recall exactly the moment he had to admit he hadn’t aimed for any of that. He hadn’t taken the white to guard his king as he raped his wife, or to see him roast enemies in their own armor, or to learn secrets he wished he never knew. Not to mention that he also took it to be near Cersei and Cersei was nowhere near him, during that time. He had sworn to be brave, to be just, to defend the young and innocent and to protect women, but everything he had done until then hadn’t exactly fit any of those oaths, had it? Surely he wasn’t protecting queen Rhaella, for one._

_No one had told him that it’d be like this. He never asked after that one time and he wishes he knew how do the others live with it, but then again the others weren’t with the king all the time. He doesn’t think he’d ever been assigned to guard anyone else in the royal family._

_By the time Rhaegar had died, Arthur Dayne had been long gone (at the Tower of Joy, he’ll learn, but he hadn’t known back then) and his one reason for liking his position was long gone with him._

\--

_What would he think of what you’ve done with your life?_

He keeps watch and asks himself the question, unable to just stop, and he can’t reach an answer.

He’s sure that Arthur Dayne would not have been impressed with his kingslaying, regardless of Jaime’s opinion of it. Then again, he died at the Tower of Joy where, as far as Ned Stark was concerned, his sister was being held captive. Jaime never understood why did Rhaegar ever start that war, with all the women he could have found if he so wished, but Arthur had gone with him, hadn’t he?

Then again, he was Rhaegar’s friend. But if that justifies it, then Jaime doubts he’d have had the moral higher ground. Aerys had told him to bring over his father’s head, after all.

If he doesn’t stop thinking about it, he’s going to lose his wits. What does it matter anyway? Arthur Dayne’s dead and Jaime’s not – he supposes that his way might not have been as honorable but at least it paid off, in that sense. He should stop worrying about what a man who’s been dead for years might think about him.

Except that he’s doing that anyway, isn’t he? _I only ever wanted to be like him_ , Jaime thinks bitterly. _And look at what a good job I made of it._ He doesn’t regret killing Aerys and he never will, but it stings to know that even if he took care to divulge the truth no one would have cared regardless. Sansa Stark might be his last chance at honor, but he doubts it’s going to be enough.

_And since when do you even care?_

Good question.

 _Since you met the wench._ The answer nags at him, not leaving him alone.

 _Pity that Dayne never met Brienne. He’d have struck a much better deal for anyone if he had knighted_ her _instead_ , he thinks in frustration, but then –

He holds in his breath, feeling like the picture suddenly started to make sense.

He’s pretty sure that while Brienne was in Renly’s guard, he couldn’t have knighted her properly – no one has ever heard of women being knighted, and Jaime isn’t sure that Renly would have bothered to breach protocol. Brienne did get what she wanted after all, and it was a place in his guard. It doesn’t do much to make Jaime think of Renly in a nicer light – seven hells, he can’t think of anyone he knows of who’d deserve it more than her. Or of anyone who did more to earn it – everyone waxes poetical about Loras Tyrell, but he highly doubts that he had to work hard for his title.

Now that he’s gone there, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Really, there’s no bloody reason why he should not do it. (Especially not when _he_ would count, for the part of the oath where you swear to defend the weak. Gods, the wench is the only reason he hadn’t let himself die when they were taken captive, and she didn’t even like him a bit back then.) She’s served her king and her liege lady better than he ever did, she believes in those oaths but he’s positive that she’s learned that you can’t honor them all at once. Which is only a good thing.

And she’s still going to ride through all the bloody Vale until they find Sansa Stark or at least have some reliable information. He knows that with a certainty that should scare him. It doesn’t though. He’s going with her for a reason, is he?

By the time Hunt switches places with him a while later, he has taken a decision.

\--

_When Ned Stark comes barging into the throne room and finds him sitting in there with a bloodied sword and a royal corpse at his feet, he looks at him as if what he just did was the most disgusting thing he’s ever witnessed, even if the former king is the reason his father and his brother are dead._

_Jaime knows that it’s the way everyone will look at it from now on._

_He tells himself he doesn’t care. He does. Except that whenever he hears_ kingslayer _hissed behind his back he wishes he could scream_ if I hadn’t done it you wouldn’t be there to say it _. Whenever people glance at him with contempt he wants to ask them what they’d have done in his place, and the fact that at least staying in the Kingsguard had paid off in regards of being near Cersei doesn’t make him any less bitter. Sure, she doesn’t care, but he still doesn’t tell her why he did it – she never asked, anyway. He doesn’t regret it. He never does, but deep in his heart he’s sure that if Arthur Dayne were to come back to life and ask him whether it was worth to throw away his vows and reputation instead of dying protecting his king as he should have done, he’d answer yes without being able to look at him in the eyes._

_He eventually comes to the conclusion that none of what he went through was worth it and that vows are for people who never took them and don’t know what they entail._

_Still, a part of him he learns to silence will keep on wishing to be proved wrong._

\--

The following day, he wakes up at the crack of dawn to see her sitting against a tree – the last watch was hers. Hunt and Pod are asleep – good. He isn’t sure that he should do this with an audience.

“Can I have a word with you?”

She looks up at him. “Of course.”

For a moment he’s about to tell her that they should do it someplace else, but the other two are asleep and leaving the camp unguarded is probably a bad idea.

He sits down next to her and racks his brain for some way to say it that won’t sound utterly ridiculous.

“Did Renly ever knight you?” Not what he’d have thought he would ask, but better than nothing.

“No. Why should he have? I hadn’t done anything to earn it. Not that I thought he would. But – no, nothing.”

“What? Come on, you were about to say it, just do it. I asked first, didn’t I?”

“You don’t know why I joined his army in the first place. It was – he danced with me once.”

“He did what?”

“He was on Tarth for a diplomatic visit. He danced with me even if I was taller and – well. For once I thought I knew how proper ladies felt. It sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t be so sure of it. So?”

“So – it’s not like I ever thought he would – I knew it was hopeless. But I liked to think that if I impressed him enough he would knight me after all.”

Right. Of course she would. Seriously, how could Renly _not_ have seen that she was worth his entire bloody rainbow guard?

“Do you still want it?”

She seems surprised at his question. “It’s not – I mean, of course, but it’s not the only thing I want. If this turns out… well, better than it has until now, and if we find Sansa Stark and bring her where she’s supposed to be, then I don’t care about titles. I’ll know I did it, it’s going to be enough. I made peace with it.”

If he hadn’t been sure already, he would be now.

“What if you didn’t have to make peace with it?”

He isn’t sure he’s ever seen her eyes get wider than they do the moment he asks that. She opens her mouth, then closes it as if she’s struggling for words.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you only wanted Renly to do it, then I suppose it’s never going to happen, but do I have to remind you that any knight can make a knight?”

“And you would…?”

“The gods know that I’ve never met someone more deserving. And yes, I’m serious.”

“You are – but when would you –”

“There’s no time like the present, is it?”

She’s still looking at him as if she can’t even believe what he’s just offered. She shakes her head in disbelief before looking down at her hands. “I just – are you sure? Do you really think –”

“Yes,” he cuts in. “Anyone with a semblance of wits would see it. I _really_ think, wench. So, can I have your sword? I think it would be more appropriate, wouldn’t it?”

For a moment she doesn’t move, but then she stands up. He follows her and she hands him Oathkeeper – he can’t help noticing that her fingers are slightly shaking.

He takes the hilt, fully conscious that this will be the only appropriate thing he’ll ever be able to do with that specific sword, and it doesn’t bother him half as much as it probably should.

She kneels wordlessly, her head bent down – she isn’t wearing her armor yet, and it’s obvious that her shoulders are trembling.

He brings the sword out of the sheath and places the blade on her right shoulder.

“Brienne of Tarth, do you swear, in the eyes of gods and men, to fight bravely, defend those who can’t defend themselves and protect women and children?”

“I do.” He can barely hear her for how low her voice is. He moves the sword to her left.

“Good. Do you swear to obey your liege lord or lady, to choose them wisely while you’re at it, and to take oaths sparsely and wisely?”

“I do,” she replies, louder. She also sounds like she’s trying not to smile, but it’s nothing he’s going to have a problem with.

“And do you swear – do you swear to keep on doing exactly everything you’ve done up to this point?”

“I do,” she answers – he can _hear_ her smiling now, he doesn’t need to see it to know. Maybe she’ll forgive him for not having followed the protocol to the letter. And then she raises her head, looking up at him, and for a moment he’s at a loss for swords. He can see that she’s this close to crying, but she’s also looking happier than he’s ever seen her, her lips curled up in the loveliest smile he’s ever seen on her (actually, he’s sure it’s the loveliest he’s seen on anyone in a long time). He’s not going to regret being the person who put it there. He remembers that dream he had, when he thought that she almost looked like a knight, that she _almost_ looked beautiful – right now she looks every inch like a knight should.

And right now, in the pale light of the morning, even if her nose has still been visibly broken, her face is even more ruined than it used to be and her eyes are still the only part of her that could be defined pretty… well, she does look beautiful to him.

“You can rise then,” he says, his throat suddenly feeling drier than it was a moment ago. “If you wish to call yourself ser I won’t be the one stopping you, but if you come up with a better alternative… well, you earned the right to use it, haven’t you?”

Her legs are visibly shaking as she rises to her feet – he hands her the sword back. She puts it back in the sheath, and when she looks at him again she’s full-on grinning. He wonders, _did I smile like that when it happened to me?_ He thinks he did.

“Wench?” he asks a moment later. “I think I forgot one thing.”

“What?”

“Well, I should have made you swear that you’ll try not to turn out like me, but if I tell you now I suppose it’s the same thing.”

He surely doesn’t expect the smile to turn into a frown. A fond frown, from what it seems, but still one. He doesn’t expect her to take a step closer either, and damn, she’s staring at him like she knows something that he just apparently doesn’t get.

“I would have said no,” she finally says, and – that was not what he had imagined.

“Sorry?”

“I couldn’t have sworn that. If there’s one thing I learned since I joined Renly’s army… it’s that things rarely go the way they should. They didn’t go that way for you and they didn’t go that way for me, and I didn’t have to choose between my king and my family. Or between my king and a thousand innocent people. I had no right to judge you without knowing the entire story, and all things considered… I think you might be too hard on yourself.”

“I doubt that, but thank you regardless. I still think that turning out to be like me would be a poor choice. Brienne, you’re better than that. Just promise me you’ll try, all right?”

“I could, but I’m not sure I want to.”

Her whole cheek suddenly turns a darker pink and she looks down at the ground before taking a deep breath and turning her eyes towards his again. “Do you know how many people really respected me after I joined Renly’s army? Even after I won that cloak?”

“Not many?”

“Maybe just Renly, but – not _really_. Not the way I’d have wanted, anyway. The answer is no one. Even if they had seen that I wasn’t there just to make a fool of myself. There’s been just one person who ever thought I wasn’t – some kind of joke from almost from the beginning. Incidentally, that same person is also the only one who trusted me enough to give me a sword and send me on a quest.”

She stops for a moment, still staring at him, as if she’s daring him to contradict her.

Point is, he really can’t.

“And I also think that this person wants exactly the same things I want. Or am I wrong?”

He shrugs – well, she’s found him out. Might as well own up to it.

“You aren’t, but I think I lost that chance a long time ago.”

“Really. So why are you even coming with me?”

He finds out he actually has no fucking answer to give her. Her lips curl upwards again – she looks quite satisfied with herself.

“Jaime, I could do a lot worse than being like you, if it ever came to that.”

“You might find yourself without much company in thinking such a thing.” He knows he sounds more tired than someone who hasn’t been awake for one hour.

“What did you just do?”

“What did I – I knighted you. What’s the point?”

“You might find yourself without much company in thinking that I deserved it.” Damn her. And she’s right, at that. Which only makes him feel angrier.

“And that’s a bloody shame, because – fuck, Brienne, I told you, I’ve never met someone who deserved it more than you. For what it’s worth.”

“Don’t you think that it’s a _bloody shame_ that no one ever wondered why you killed your king?”

“And I’m sure that Arthur Dayne, wherever he is right now, is regretting he ever thought it was a good idea to knight me in the first place.”

“If half of what I hear about him is true, I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?”

“From what I hear, he was far from stupid. And he wouldn’t have knighted someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“So?”

“From what I see, I don’t think he was wrong. As stated, you’re here. If he had been wrong at the core, you wouldn’t be.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“If no one you ever met is more deserving of the title than I am, then I must be right.”

Gods, and she sounds sure of that. Not that she’s ever been the type to say something if she didn’t mean it. He wishes he knew what to say, but there’s no quip coming to him, there’s _nothing_ he can think of that would sound appropriate in the magnitude of what she’s just told him. He doesn’t know when her opinion of him started to matter that much – a while though, not just since he decided that she would have been worth of a white cloak. But to think that at least someone thinks that high of him now that pretty much no one else does is doing _things_ to him, and he doesn’t realize that the tip of her fingers is brushing against his cheek until he feels the touch.

“Are you – you look upset,” she says, frowning.

“No – no, that’s not it. Far from it.” He sees her moving her fingers away and before he’s even though about it his good hand is clutching at her wrist, his arm in between them since she had been using her left.

“You mean it.” He doesn’t even bother putting it as a question.

“I don’t usually lie just in order to please someone,” Brienne answers, not even attempting to get free of his grip even if she could in a moment.

“Damn. And I was thinking I would stop with that whole thing about breaking vows.” It comes out – well, not the way he thought it would, but if he does what he’s itching to do right now then – well, he’s going to break one. Not that it’s one that matters. He broke it for Cersei once. He had thought that after what happened he might as well try to keep it, but he likes to be honest with himself and right now he thinks that breaking it for Brienne would be more than worth it.

“What?”

He doesn’t bother explaining himself – he lets her wrist go and before she can move back, he kisses her.

It’s not much of a kiss, to be entirely truthful, but he figures that shoving your tongue into someone’s mouth when you’re not even sure that they would want you to kiss them isn’t very knightly. Her lips are cracked but soft under his, not like Cersei’s at all, and – she’s not kissing back but she hasn’t pushed him away either, so it has to count for something, doesn’t it? He doesn’t push on his luck and he moves back, not knowing what to expect. He’d bet on a punch to the face, but when he opens his eyes and looks at Brienne, her eyes are wider than they were when he knighted her before and she’s never looked farther from wanting to punch him.

“I’m sorry if –”

“Just – just one thing. What was that for?”

“What do you think it could have been for?”

“Was it because of – of what I said before? You don’t have to do that if –”

He understands at once where she’s aiming and before she can finish, his thumb is on her bottom lip and she stops talking at once.

“Wench, while it’s flattering that you might think such courteous things of me, I think you should lower your expectations. I did that for myself. And while doing things for myself has always been my weakness… well, I’ve never learned better, did I?”

For a moment she stares at him like she can’t believe what he’s just said, and then before he can even excuse himself for it, her lips are on his again and she’s definitely not just standing there and taking it – right, she kisses like it’s the first time she does this and gods it most probably is, but he’s not going to question his luck. His left hand goes to the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of hair, and she moans into his mouth when his tongue starts moving against hers – she has her hands on the sides of his face and her fingers are slightly shaking, and there’s absolutely nothing courteous or knightly about this kind of kissing.

Not that it’s an issue.

She’s flushing all over when the kiss ends, not to mention that she’s looking at him like he just walked out of some kind of song where things go the way they’re supposed to.

It’s making him feel all kinds of dizzy, but that’s not such a bad thing. He thought he had forgotten the feeling, but that’s obviously not true. He can’t bring himself to feel bad about any of it – not when she’s looking at him like that.

“Well, I thought you would kill me. I suppose it’s my lucky day.”

 _Not what the ideal knight would have told the fair maiden_ , he thinks.

“Why, ser, and I was here thinking that it was mine.” 

And that wasn’t what the fair maiden would have answered.

He’s kissing her again before he’s even thought about it, slower this time, and maybe his heart skips a beat when she opens up to him without even a hint of hesitation –

“Well, at least I know why my marriage proposals always went unanswered.”

They break the kiss abruptly the moment they hear Hunt speak – he’s sitting up on the ground looking at the both of them as if he’s been expecting for it to happen for a while. And – oh hells, the lad is blushing the color of ripe tomatoes and he’s resolutely looking at the ground.

“How long have you been awake?” Brienne asks, her cheeks flushing red.

“Not much but enough,” Hunt replies, shrugging. “And I’m sure I missed something, but – well, I suppose I should say congratulations.”

He stands up and leaves his stool, heading for some bushes on the side of the path.

“Well, at least he’s going to stop with the bloody marriage proposals,” Jaime says before forcing himself to go gather his things – they should start moving soon.

He’s quick to do it, it’s not like he has that much with him, and he turns his attention back to Brienne when he’s done. Pod is standing next to her as she goes through their food – they’ll have to eat something before they leave. He’s also still blushing and looking at her like he wants to say something but can’t find the words for it. Considering that there’s a rope burn on his neck standing out sorely, Jaime figures the lad should be glad that he still can blush like that.

“Pod, I can hear you thinking from here. Go on. You can tell me,” Brienne says as she hands him a piece of bread.

“I – uh. I just thought I should – well. Uhm. You and him. I guess congratulations are in order, ser – I mean, my lady –”

Jaime can’t help himself. And good thing that Hunt is coming back to the camp right now – he’ll just have to say it once.

“Lad, calm down. She won’t eat you and neither will I. But if you want to just call her _ser_ , by any means, do it. You wouldn’t be wrong – she’s been one since before you woke up this morning.”

He doesn’t even bother paying attention to what Pod stammers a moment later, or to what Hunt is muttering under his breath as he eats his share of bread. But when he looks at Brienne and she smiles at him like he’s the best thing that ever happened to her, he’s sure that he did the right thing.

And for the first time in years he also feels like Arthur Dayne might not be looking at him and thinking ill of his choices from wherever he is right now.

End.


End file.
